


The Bitter Pill

by valedecems



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Conflict, Crossover, Hurt Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Lucifer - Freeform, Martha Jones - Freeform, Meddling TARDIS, Memories, Post-The Year that Never Was (Doctor Who), Recovered Memories, Sad Tenth Doctor, Some Deckerstar, jack harkness - Freeform, tenth doctor - Freeform, unlikely friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:51:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22107511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valedecems/pseuds/valedecems
Summary: When he was dumped in downtown LA, the last thing the Doctor expected to do was empathise with the Devil.
Comments: 45
Kudos: 132





	1. Drowning Dry

**Author's Note:**

> Post year-that-never-was, and after the death of Uriel.

Martha had left. And that was okay.  
The Master had died. And that was okay.  
Astrid fell to save him. And that was okay.  
He was alone in the universe once again. And that was okay.

It appeared that no matter how much he strived for a different fate, for a turn of luck, he ended up alone once again.  
Perhaps alone wasn't the correct word. He had the entire universe at his fingertips. He could have tea with Jane Austen, or get drunk with Elvis Presley. He could inspire Picasso, or feast with William the Conqueror. No. He wasn't alone, he was lonely.

For a while, he fooled himself; told himself that they could never stay. They would age, and wither, and perish in his arms long before he was ready for them to. Of course, that wasn't the case any more. Jack was immortal; he had seen it for himself. The man died repeatedly and relentlessly in a situation that the Doctor had put him in, and still looked at him with a reverence that soared through eternity.  
That was it, really, wasn't it? That wonder. The shock, the unrepentant adoration for the Time Lord that would have them sacrifice their lives to impress him.   
And he took advantage of it.  
Not completely. Not consciously. But he let people ruin their own lives. Throw away their relationships; their family; their friends; their work - just for a stint in space and time.

A kick to the TARDIS' console with a rattily clad foot punctuated these thoughts effectively: a useless plight to vent frustrations that would only hurt him, in the end. His ship whirred at him, a low, rueful vibration that cried the engine-oil tears that he couldn't manage to force from his own eyes. "Sorry," he breathed. "I'm sorry." 

Under his feet, he felt her sigh.

"Take me somewhere," he said softly, turning knobs and pushing buttons vaguely and without aim. "Poosh. Or A-Lux. A-Lux could be nice." He thought aloud, filling the empty chamber of the ship with the echoes of his own voice. With a jolt, the TARDIS began to make her move through the time vortex. "And don't let me in until I stop feeling sorry for myself," he added. He would not find himself on another suicide mission, not this time. It was a brief moment of self-awareness that was uncommon of the Time Lord, but he knew well that it was for the best. "Unless I'm in danger. Or bored. Same thing, really."

A soft groan communicated the fact that the TARDIS had made her landing, and the Doctor didn't bother to check the screen before he grabbed his coat and began to walk out of the door. "See you later," he said to no-one in particular, opening the door and stepping out.

It was dark outside, and it took him a moment to get his bearings. Once he did, however, he saw skyscrapers that tickled the clouds, illuminated by great beams of light. In the distance, mountains outlined the sky. The air was hot and dry, pushing meandering breezes through messily-styled hair. Loud, thumping music assaulted his ears at every turn, the tune incomprehensible over the bass of the speakers. And the _smell_. Sweat and smoke and beer and sea air. The congregation of foul, pungent attacks on the senses could only lead the Doctor to one conclusion.  
"Los Angeles?" He exclaimed incredulously, smacking at the TARDIS' door. "Anywhere in the known universe, and you've taken me to _Los __Angeles_? I'm not having this. Let me in." He rattled the key in the lock, but to no avail. It would appear she had taken his previous request to heart. "I'm in danger! This is danger! Let me in!" He begged, pushing at the door with all the might he could muster up. "I said Poosh! I said A-Lux! This isn't _anything _-" in an attempt to prove his point, he gave a wave to the world standing around him, only to stop abruptly at the sign that shone not twenty metres from where he stood.

_Lux_

"You heard me say A-Lux and you took me to a nightclub?" He spoke to the box, now aware of the strange looks he was getting from the already-and-soon-to-be-intoxicated people bustling past him. "I'll be having words with you later." The Doctor grumbled, before storming away from the ship, and toward the vast line to enter the club his impertinent time machine had taken him to.   
The queue was long, and not one that he planned to stand in. Rather, he flounced up to the bouncer with a stony, unreadable gaze and held up his trusted psychic paper. In response, the burly man widened his eyes, straightened his posture, and waved him through.

The stench outside of the club was masked indoors by strong, cheap scents sprayed crudely over the bodies of the patrons who stumbled through crowds, which mingled with the unmistakeable scent of alcohol. The music was cacophonous, and the Doctor supposed that this was all a part of the charm, or lack thereof, of nightclubs. This assault on the senses would get the guards of attendees down, allowing them to throw their inhibitions to the wind and be someone else, just until morning. Perhaps that was what his TARDIS was hinting for him to do; let his hair down.  
Hesitantly, the Doctor made his way down the steps from the balcony he had entered on, taking in his surroundings as thoroughly as he could despite the distractions. Possible exits, dangers, threats, all scanned through his mind in a mapped blueprint. Whether it was a precaution or a force of habit, it was helpful in many cases.

The music quietened down substantially by the time he reached the centre of the club, and the reason for this was revealed in the form of a dark haired man parking himself in front of a piano, who, after putting out his cigarette in a glass of whiskey, began to play.   
The Doctor wasn't particularly well-versed when it came to Earth music. Every now and then, he would hear a piece that he enjoyed, but it wasn't often that he recognised a song. This, however, was one that he had heard a little while ago - a mournful rendition of The Unforgiven by Metallica - that pulled at his heartstrings.

The Doctor closed his eyes and basked in the sound, a soft tune that sounded ethereal compared to the previous groan of the speakers. The melancholy string of notes ended almost as soon as it started, however, when the man struck the keys, evoking a jarring noise that triggered a sense of disquiet. The previous gentle chatter consisting of compliments to his talent hushed suddenly, and after a beat of silence, the man spoke.

"Get out,"

Then, louder.

"_Get out!_"

The patrons of the club scattered like ants, rushing toward the door as quickly as one would if a blaze was running rampant through a building. It only took a few seconds before he and the man were alone in the room.

"You're good at that," the Doctor finally spoke.  
"I said get out," he seemed volatile, and the Doctor took the time to really examine the man. His hair was a mess, his suit dishevelled. He hadn't seen the man's face, yet, but guessed that once he did, he would see dark circles shadowing dreary eyes on a pale face.  
"I used to play the spoons. That's about the extent of my musical ability. I'd like to learn the guitar one day. Not in this life, though," he hesitantly approached the man, taking a seat next to him on the piano's stool. "I suppose that you're the owner, then,"  
To this, the Doctor received nothing but silence. As always, this didn't deter the Time Lord in the slightest. "It's nice. Quite loud. Could probably feel that bass from halfway across the planet. I might test that."  
"Go on, then," the man responded harshly.  
"No, not right now." The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "You look how I feel. Don't plan on leaving anyone alone to feel like that."  
"And how do you think I feel?" He turned his head toward the Doctor with a furrowed brow, as if the very proposition that anyone could understand his feelings was incredulous at best.  
The Doctor smiled at him then. A wry, knowing smile that held no glee nor joy, shaded with faint traces of hope - but shrouded by sadness. "Alone," he said. "Someone's died, haven't they? And you think it's your fault."  
The man laughed. "I don't _think_ anything. And if I wanted a psychiatric evaluation, I would visit my therapist."  
"Fair enough," the Doctor said, biting his tongue to keep from making a snarky comment about the overt defence mechanism that he was exercising.  
"What's your name?" The man asked after a little bout of silence, looking over the Doctor with a new expression. Fascination, perhaps.  
"I'm the Doctor. And you are?"

The man's lips parted in a moment of shock at that. A flash of sudden and intense emotion flew across his face, before he composed himself, blinked, and licked his lips in a nervous manner. "Lucifer Morningstar. I'd like to speak more with you, _Doctor_. If you're the man I believe you to be, I have some things I'd like to speak with you about."   
"Well," the Doctor was surprised at that. He changed his tune rather quickly. But, without a TARDIS to go running off to, he supposed he could entertain himself. "Strange name," he commented, before finally settling on a smiling "I don't appear to be going anywhere, Mr. Morningstar. Fire away."


	2. A Pitstop In Hell

The sudden change of heart that Lucifer had had was one that surprised the Doctor. Here was a man who had just ordered every single customer out of his club, in the throes of, to be blunt, an emotional breakdown, suddenly offering a little chat with the man. The Time Lord was fascinated, to say the very least. Regardless, he was stranded in this city until the TARDIS deemed him 'better', and the man had sparked his interest.  
A moment of silence passed between them, in which Lucifer appeared to examine him, look at him from head to toe in a manner that resembled predation. "I didn't expect you to be so _skinny_," Lucifer said, shattering the quiet.  
The Doctor wasn't usually surprised by people. Humans were simple creatures. Even if they knew about him, though, they normally didn't look at him like _this_. He expected a gaze of wonderment or of awe, but all the man was offering was a cool gaze. "You know about me, then?" The Doctor asked in response. Lucifer laughed.  
"Oh, yes," he stood from the piano's stool, striding over to the bar and pulling two glasses out, pouring dark liquid into both with deft and masterful movements.   
"That won't do much to me," the Doctor said, his brow furrowing at the sight of alcohol. "If your intention is to get me drunk -"  
"Oh, it doesn't do much to me either. Not after a few minutes. Superior metabolism, mmm?"  
  


With every passing moment, this man was confusing him further and further. The alarm bells in the Doctor's head were blaring, resonating through the hallways of his mind like air raid sirens. "And you would know, Lucifer?" He tried the name on his tongue, and grimaced. "Strange name."  
"And 'doctor' isn't?" Lucifer returned, placing the glasses on the closed lid of the piano. "It would appear, Doctor, that we've both chosen suitable names for our professions. I've heard the other ones, though. The Oncoming Storm, the Beast, the Valeyard - you do get around, don't you? You've almost more nicknames than me."  
"How do you -" the Doctor caught himself in the question. He knew the titles he had been granted by those considered enemies. Usually, this wouldn't bother him - but a man who owned a bar in Los Angeles knowing those names... Irked him, to say the least.  
"Lucifer Morningstar," Lucifer said his own name smoothly, rolling the syllables around his mouth. "Bit on the nose, isn't it? But I've heard souls talking about you. I've seen the rooms of Hell that are populated by your face - faces," the man smiled. There was a glint in his eyes that was devilish.

Devilish.

The Doctor reeled away, lengthening the gap between the two of them. "Lucifer Morningstar, as in, the Devil?" He asked, his face a caricature of shock. "I killed you. You were -"  
"Ah-ah-ah!" Lucifer hushed. "Don't spoil my future for me. It all gets so _boring_ when you know exactly what's going to happen." He moved toward the Doctor again, slowly, as though the Time Lord were a feral animal. "You believe me though, don't you? You see it."  
Lucifer's demeanour changed. The man in front of the Doctor went within seconds from a man with the universe in his palm, to one that was nervous. Frightened, even, of the answer he would receive. As though the very concept of someone seeing him through his thinly veiled disposition of being the King of Hell was enough to shake his confidence.  
"See what?" The Doctor implored. In response, the devil scowled. Gestured at himself.  
"This! The man behind the mask, the devil in sheep's clothing. You see it, don't you? The bad." His last word was venomous, spat through shining teeth by an uncharacteristically non-forked tongue. "Go on, Doctor." Lucifer drank the glass of whiskey he had placed down in one long, graceless gulp.

This wasn't a challenge, nor a trick. This was the act of a man who truly believed that he was evil, clutched by the iron vice of self-loathing. A man, a celestial, a devil who was begging for someone to see him the way that he saw himself, to punish him for what stared at him in the mirror. The Doctor stared, making eye contact with Lucifer for the very first time, and watched masks shatter behind dark irises. "How could I judge you?" He spoke softly. "I've probably done worse than you have. You rebelled. That's about it, isn't it? And you're punishing yourself for a punishment?"  
"I have done far more than just rebel, Doctor." Lucifer said, furrowing his brow.  
"You know who I am, Lucifer," he responded. "You know the names I have been given. God, look far enough and you'll find my real name buried in there somewhere."   
Lucifer's cool glare became softer, and he walked over to one of the booths to practically collapse on the seat. "How do you cope?" He asked, pushing his fingers against his temples.  
"With what?"  
"I've heard stories about you. I told stories about you," Lucifer scoffed. "All these little people look at you like you're their God. Like a rising salvation in a world in the clutches of... Well... Me. But they forget, and they move on, and they scurry around with their jobs and their lives and their families..."  
"What's your point?" The Time Lord was confused. Not just because of the rambled train of thought being ejected from the devil's mouth, but a specific sentence. Why on Earth would the devil tell stories about him?  
"We are the same," he said. "They spread the myths, the legends, and they convolute them. They make you into the bad guy. Find _you_ to be the common denominator in all of history's catastrophes. And you help them ceaselessly."  
"I like them," the Doctor responded bluntly. "When did you tell stories about me?"  
Lucifer raised his eyebrows at that. Cracked a little smile. "Of course you like them. I fell for them. You, sir, fell in love with them."  
"You must like them a little bit," the Time Lord rationalised. "You could probably jump to Mars if you felt like it. You could stay in Hell, be the king of kings, and you're staying here."  
"I'm on holiday."  
"People don't tend to go on holiday to places they don't enjoy." The Doctor cocked an eyebrow, and for the second time, their eyes met.  
"They all rot." Lucifer said. "All of them. They're rotting now, and I can feel it. Every single second, a cell withers away. You're not as old as I am, Doctor, but you're old enough to understand. And you stay. You let them tell their stories. You give them fuel for more! The Great Wanderer, making pitstops in the lives of a race that never thanks him."  
"I don't see your point," he blinked away his confusion, rubbing at his forehead.  
"Why?" The Devil boomed, standing suddenly. After the syllable escaped, his voice softened. "Why do you do it? Why do you keep coming back here when you know the fate that will befall them? Why do you bother?"

The question hung in the room for seconds that dragged like years. But, after contemplation, the Time Lord spoke again with a hopeful little smile on his face. "Why do people pick flowers?"


	3. Heaven Up There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short one today whoops i have been busy

Silence fell between the two of them, the white noise of the outer world filtering through like a whisper in a dream. Lucifer was the first to move, taking the Doctor's neglected glass and taking a long chug of it himself before moving on to the bar and pouring out two more - which were promptly railed down like shots. He stayed like that for a while, clutching at the sides of the bar as though it was the only thing keeping him afloat. It was fair to say that the mood had changed rather drastically. 

Lucifer, having decided that the washing up would be much easier if he simply cut out the middle man, returned to the booth with the bottle. "How old are you, really?" He asked softly prior to taking a swig.  
"Nine hundred and three, last time I counted," the Doctor responded. "S'pose numbers don't go back that far, for you."  
Lucifer chuckled, a sound made harmonic through the makeshift flute of the bottleneck that was perched against his mouth. "Have you ever killed someone, Doctor?"  
The Doctor didn't react outwardly, staring forward as though he hadn't heard the question. His eyes remained trained on the table in front of the devil, with the only vague evidence of consciousness being the metronomic tensing and relaxing of his jaw. When he finally said "yes", it was almost inaudible, even in the quiet of the empty club. He moved his head to make eye contact with Lucifer, communicating a silent question in return.  
"One," Lucifer said. "My brother." He dragged his gaze away from the Time Lord's searching gaze. "Yesterday."  
"I'm sorry,"  
"What?" He stammered out. "Aren't you going to ask me why?"  
"Do you want me to?"  
Lucifer took another contemplative sip. "No. I suppose not,"  
"There we are, then."

The two seemed to have settled into a cycle of silence, difficult conversation, then further silence. As awkward as it appeared on paper, there was a cathartic - and unlikely - kinship between the two of them.  
"What do you do, then?" The Doctor took his turn to shatter the quiet this time. "Outside of being the king of Hell."  
"I work for the LAPD," Lucifer offered a wry smile. "I've gone on holiday from punishing the dead by punishing the living." The Doctor responded with a little chuckle.  
Another pause. "What are you doing here?" The devil asked.  
"My ship thought I needed a break,"  
"The mighty TARDIS," Lucifer interjected with a knowing little smile.  
"That's the one. Dropped me here. Won't let me back in until I 'feel better'," the frustration peeked through the Doctor's calm, almost monotonous speech.  
"I know someone like that," Lucifer nodded. "It could be worse."  
"Could it?"   
A shared laugh.

They were in the midst of another of their comfortable silences when a brash noise sounded from Lucifer's phone. It illuminated, the word 'Decker' lighting up the quickly darkening club. Lucifer watched it ring for a while, took one more swig, then picked it up as he pushed a pained smile to his face. "Yes, I'm fine,"  
There was some muffled, inaudible speech, then once again Lucifer piped up: "They were being too loud. An old friend is visiting."  
The Doctor caught a suspicious, tinny _"Friend?"_ From the mobile.  
"I have friends!" Lucifer paused. "Very busy. Sorry." He seemed to be ready to hang up the phone, but a few mangled syllables sounded from the poor speakers and Lucifer's entire existence seemed to stutter. "Sorry, who?"  
The devil's face became an expression of unbridled confusion and shock. "You know what? Don't worry about it. I'll meet you at the station."

"What was that?" The Doctor asked, feeling a twinge of excitement. "Sounded interesting."  
Lucifer tented his fingers and thought. "That was the detective. My partner, she wanted me to come to work. Something trivial. I wasn't really listening," he paused. "She mentioned a name, though. I remember names. I know the name of every man, woman, and child who has walked into that precinct, but I've never heard of a _Jeremy_."  
"Right," the Doctor cocked an eyebrow. "So?"  
"Well, she said she'd run it past this _Jeremy _instead. Like it was nothing," Lucifer said, frustration seeping through his tone. "I'm going to go down there, and I'm going to give him a piece of my mind."   
"Let's go, then," the Doctor smiled, standing.  
"What makes you think you're invited?" Lucifer asked.  
"You've been drinking," he responded quickly.  
"And you can drive, can you?"  
"Centuries of traversing time and space in the most advanced machine in the entire universe, and you think I can't drive a little car?" 


	4. Hell Down Here

As it turned out, the Doctor couldn't drive a little car. He was a bit out of practice, he supposed.  
He fumbled with the clutch point, jerked around corners, and decided that he would not be dictated by the coloured lights that hung at the meeting of intersections. For the entire - albeit short - journey, Lucifer feared for his life (a difficult feat, considering he was an immortal), wrenching out profanities and comments that he could drive better if he had had all of his limbs freshly amputated.

After a horrific ride, the two stepped out of the car and made their way into the precinct, lit like a beacon in comparison to the dark of the night sky.   
"Lucifer!" A female voice called out, and the two span in response. A beaming Chloe Decker approached them at speed, wrapping her arms around the devil in a tight, unexpected hug, which was hesitantly reciprocated.  
"Are you alright?" Lucifer asked, evidently unsettled by her unprompted display of affection.  
"Of course I am," she kept the smile up - which, at this point, was becoming unnerving - as she turned to face the Doctor. "Is this the friend you were talking about?"  
"Yes, hello, that's me," the Doctor responded, looking between the two in an attempt to discern their dynamic. Giving up, he offered a hand out to her. "I'm the Doctor. You are...?"  
"Detective Chloe Decker," she chirped back, grasping and shaking his hand enthusiastically. "Nice to meet you."  
Lucifer interjected before she could ask the dreaded question regarding his name. "So, the case," he feigned interest. "What was so interesting that you interrupted our little catch-up?"  
"Follow me,"

Chloe walked off quickly, giving the two time to briefly speak.  
"That's _not _detective Decker," Lucifer whispered. "Or it is, and she's on something. No. That's not my detective."   
The Doctor smiled in response, choosing to follow the woman who appeared to leak glee from every pore.

"There's a woman in the interrogation room. Mary Walker. Twenty three. She's a waitress. Came in crying and screaming, confessed to a load of cold cases." Chloe said once they were beside her. "But none of it matches. Here - there's evidence of her in Ohio on April seventeenth, but she's adamant she stabbed a man downtown that night. Knew the street, his name - basically told us exactly how it happened and how she did it."  
"Twins?" Lucifer offered, perplexed.   
"Only child. We checked birth records," she responded.  
"Were the cases public record?" The Doctor asked.  
"No. There's no way she could've known about them," Chloe seemed dumbfounded. "That's just one of the confessions. She's been at it all night. Hit and runs, robberies, murders..." As she spoke, she sifted through files. "Some from years back. But she has an alibi for all of them."

They didn't notice the fourth figure approach them until a deep voice sounded. "Strange, isn't it?"  
The first thing the Doctor noticed was that this man was tall. Dark, not-quite-black hair with smile lines decorating the sides of intoxicatingly deep green eyes. His jaw was peppered with stubble that suggested he hadn't shaved in a while - and yet, it complemented a defined and carved bone structure. Bright white teeth gleamed when he spoke - and though he had yet to say more than a few syllables, he had a smoky voice which demanded attention.  
"I didn't see you there," the Doctor said calmly, and though he couldn't see Lucifer in his field of vision, it was becoming clear that he was going to have to commandeer this conversation. "I'm the Doctor. Just visiting. You are?" He offered out a hand in the same way he had for the detective.  
"Hall. Jeremy Hall," the man didn't take up the handshake. "No need for formalities. I was just speaking to our suspect. She's pretty torn up." He turned his head toward Lucifer, and smiled widely. "Lucifer!" He purred, his grin an iridescent white. "You feelin' better, buddy? Heard you were struggling."  
Lucifer narrowed his eyes in response, turning his attention back to Chloe. "Interrogation, wasn't it? Fancy having a chat with her, Doctor?" He didn't wait for a response before grabbing the Doctor's arm and practically dragging him away.  
"Lucifer, wait!" Chloe called after him, and he hesitated.  
"Yes, I know, don't -"  
"Be careful!"  
Lucifer widened his eyes and continued walking.

The lighting of the interrogation room accentuated the gauntness of Mary's features - most of which were hidden behind matted blonde hair. She shrunk when Lucifer and the Doctor entered, cowering like an abused animal. "Why haven't you locked me up yet?" Her voice was a strangled, strained mess.  
"Hello," The Doctor said, his voice gentle and smooth. "I'm the Doctor. This is Lucifer."  
"Why haven't you locked me up?" She asked again, more urgently. Her gaze was fixated on the floor.  
"Mary, isn't it?" He slipped into the chair across from her. Lucifer remained standing near the door, his brows knitted.  
Mary responded with a dry, sharp intake of breath, convoluted by harsh, shaking sobs. After a few seconds of this, she nodded.  
"It's a nice name, that," his voice never raised above a certain level, trying to retain the calm that was settling over her. "I've met a few Marys. Wollstonecraft, Shelley..." He shook his head, clocking himself for veering off track.  
"Why haven't you -" She interrupted herself with a shuddering breath.  
"Mary, I don't think you did any of the things you think you did," he responded softly.  
"But I remember it," Mary whispered.  
"When did you remember?" The Doctor asked.  
"Today. I was pulled over, I was speeding, and I got the t-ticket, and it all..." Her face scrunched up in a contorted caricature of horror. "Oh my god, what have I done?"  
The Doctor glanced over at Lucifer, his face the picture of concern. "Okay. Mary?" He chimed her name to coax her gaze into his. "This is going to be sorted out, okay? I think you'll be allowed home soon. Where's home for you?"  
"I live with my cousin," slowly, she was regaining her composure, and she raised her arm to wipe away the sticky tears that stained her cheekbones.  
"Can they pick you up, do you think?" He prodded, and when she nodded, he gave her a reassuring smile. "Okay. I'm going to go and speak to some people, but you can go home soon, Mary, and the police will figure out exactly what's happened."

With that, he left the room with Lucifer on his coattails.  
"You're good at that," the devil said. "If you ever get bored of time and space -"  
"Ask who pulled her over," the Doctor interjected, jerking a thumb toward Decker. "I don't think you'll be surprised by the answer."  
Lucifer looked puzzled, but headed over to Chloe anyway. Their conversation was prompt, but his poorly masked shocked expression told the Doctor everything he needed to know, and before he had returned to the Time Lord's side, the name that would come from Lucifer's mouth was an obvious one.  
"Jeremy,"


	5. Seize the Devil

The revelation was one that Lucifer expected, and yet it still hit him like a fourteen-wheeler. The Doctor watched as he floundered between searching for words and looking over at Jeremy, who stood with his back to them, chatting in a friendly manner with Decker.  
"Is he dangerous?" The words escaped through a choked-up throat, sounding forced and unnatural in comparison to Lucifer's normally smooth, chocolatey tenor. The Doctor couldn't find it in him to provide an answer. He didn't know. Everything was screaming at him that _yes__, this man is probably a great danger_, but expressing that concern would likely light a fire under Lucifer and, as much as he had learnt about the devil in the brief time they had spent together, he wasn't sure what the outcome would be.

In the end, he didn't have to respond, as Chloe appeared and laid her hand on Lucifer's arm. He flinched at the overt display of affection, but gathered himself quickly.   
"You okay?" She asked. Her expression was pensive, her voice quiet. "It's strange, right?"  
"Very," Lucifer murmured in reply. "What does Jeremy think?"  
"He's just as clueless as we are," she shrugged.  
"You should send her home," the Doctor said quickly. "I asked. She has someone there."  
Chloe nodded at that. "Yeah," she looked between the two quickly. "Sorry, you introduced yourself earlier, but who actually _are_ you?"  
"I'm the Doctor," he replied bluntly.  
"Yeah, you said that. Is that a code name?"  
The Doctor paused for a second, then nodded. "S'pose so,"  
"How do you two know each other?" Her interrogation shifted to genuine curiosity, and the Doctor caught her looking up at the devil with a bit of a twinkle in her eye.   
"He was just passing through. Got stranded here for a while." Lucifer said coolly.  
The Doctor saw his chance and took it. "Jeremy," he didn't falter over the name, scanning Chloe's face for any microexpression that would give something away. "There were files where I work. Didn't mention him. Is he new?"  
She looked puzzled. "No. He's been here three years now."  
"Right. Must just be a computer problem," he said hesitantly, his mind racing. When he caught a glance at Lucifer, he realised that they were in the same boat.  
"Where _do _you work?" She prodded.  
Luckily, Lucifer saved him from the question. "I think we should head back. Time zones, all of that. The Doctor must be tired."  
"Exhausted," he sighed, exaggerating a slouched posture. "It was nice to meet you, Chloe."  
She didn't seem pleased, but nodded, sure that she could simply run his name in the system and get a result. "I'll call you if anything happens," she said to Lucifer, pulling him into another tight, brief hug before heading off back to her desk, letting them get on with it.

An unspoken conversation between Lucifer and the Doctor confirmed that they wouldn't talk about the revelations until they were out of the scrutinising eye of the remainder of the police department. With stoney expressions, they turned on their heels and made their way to the exit at a brisk pace.  
The two were nearly out of the door when a hearty pat on Lucifer's shoulder stopped him in his tracks.  
"See you soon, Lucifer," the voice was Jeremy's. In favour of all of his instincts, the devil didn't turn around, but rather shrugged the hand off of him and continued on his way to the Corvette.

Outside, the sky was becoming a lighter shade of blue, confirming that the sun was beginning its slow meander up the sky. After witnessing the Doctor's driving skills, Lucifer didn't hesitate when it came to sliding into the driver's seat; and once they were both inside, he sped back in the direction of Lux. They both sat in contemplative silence for the journey, combing their brains to make sense of the situation.   
They arrived at the club carrying the absence of an epiphany, and, once inside, broke their tense silence.

"Three years," the devil's voice didn't carry its usual confidence. "How is that possible? Was this you? Is this why you're here?" His frustrations were suddenly directed at the Time Lord, as the only potential recipient.  
"I don't know," he said. "I told you. My ship took me here."  
"Is he an alien?"  
"He might be. Or a parasite. He's got to have slipped up somewhere. We'll figure it out," the Doctor was trying his best to stay optimistic in the midst of such a situation, shrouded with mystery. "What else was there?" He slipped his hand into one of the inside pockets of his overcoat, retrieving, and then putting on, his glasses.  
"Chloe," Lucifer said. "She was acting strange."  
"So you said," the Doctor nodded. "So Jeremy appears, your friend starts acting strangely, and a woman who was in direct contact with him began admitting to crimes she couldn't have committed."  
"It's a bit sloppy," Lucifer commented, and when the Doctor's brow furrowed, he continued. "The crimes. She had an alibi for all of them. If he wanted to pin crimes on her, then she's a shoddy scapegoat."  
"So it's can't be a scapegoat."  
"Then what is it?"  
"A test? A game? An experiment?" The Doctor was bouncing ideas off the walls and seeing what stuck.  
"I need a drink,"

While Lucifer went to pick up the bottle he had left on a booth's table, the Doctor wracked his brain for anything that fit the limited description they had. "Think, think, think..." He muttered to himself, tapping his temple as though that would trigger a monumental thought. "Strange behaviours. Appears out of nowhere - oh!" The Time Lord spun on his heel, pointing at nothing in particular. "I'm stupid! I'm thick! Memories! He's manipulating memories!" Victorious joy bled through his voice. "Decker has had her memories of you _barely_ altered. Just enough to make her more affectionate. She remembers him being there far longer than he was. He got in, read the cold case files, and he pushed those facts into the memory of Mary. How's he _doing_ it, though? A telepathic field? Any ideas?"   
It wasn't as fun when he was talking to himself, and unfortunately, it would appear that that was exactly what he was doing. The Doctor couldn't see Lucifer's face from where he stood, but from the back, the devil was completely still. His knuckles were white, clutching the neck of the bottle he held with a vice grip.   
"Lucifer?" He asked again, quieter this time. When the acoustics of the club weren't polluted by his own voice, he could hear the ragged breaths coming from the other. "Are you alright?"  
The bottle in his hand succumbed to the exponential pressure of Lucifer's clutch, shattering and crashing onto the grown. Whiskey pooled around his feet.  
"Lucifer," desperate now, the Doctor approached, being careful not to make any sudden or jolting movements.   
"I remember,"  
"Sorry?" He was in front of him now, grateful for the slight barrier the table between them provided. "What do you remember?"  
"That man, I remember the man," Lucifer spoke slowly, and a new expression clouded his eyes. Whether it was fear or rage or pain or a mixture of all three, it was triggering fear in the hearts of the Doctor. "I remember those _things_. They descended, and I ran." He swallowed a lump. "It was your fault. You were there, you remember. You were meant to fix it. She said you would fix it. She _loved_ you!" Whatever that previous emotion was, rage had prevailed, and Lucifer stared at the ever-addled Doctor with the fury of a thousand suns.  
"Who? What was my fault?" He tried, and failed, to keep the anxiety out of his voice.  
"That year. Him. He was one of you. He was one of your kind. It's your fault."   
Once again, the Doctor thanked the barrier between them, because it gave him time to start backing away from the enraged creature. "Who?" The question was idiotic. He knew what Lucifer was talking about; he simply didn't want to believe it. "Lucifer, you need to stay calm. This is Jeremy. You're not angry at me. You need to think clearly. Please." He found himself against a wall, and Lucifer was beginning to advance toward him. The devil's face morphed in the blink of an eye, his skin a blistered red patterned with black, protruding veins. His eyes were scarlet and deep-set, the meticulously styled head of hair gone in an instant - replaced by a burnt and scarred scalp.   
"He burned me from the inside and I did it for _you_. The wonderful Doctor, the all-knowing Doctor, who let them die. Who sat in the sky and let the person who loved him sacrifice everything because he was _useless_." The words felt like daggers in the Time Lord's back while accompanied with the new, distorted voice. "_He never stops, he never stays, he never asks to be thanked_..." The garbled vocals became a higher pitch, and the Doctor realised that he was quoting Martha. "And he never apologises. He never repents. He never begs. He sits on his throne and he doesn't converge."  
"Lucifer," the Doctor choked through a tight throat. In response, the devil snarled, twitching with anger. "I didn't want that. I didn't. It wasn't planned." In response, a visceral roar, and Lucifer lunged toward him. In a single, reflexive motion, the Doctor snapped his hands toward the rough skin on Lucifer's temples and closed his eyes.

He didn't open them when he heard Lucifer collapse on the ground, or when tears stabbed at the backs of his eyes. He sunk against the wall he leaned on, took his glasses off, and rode away on a train of thought.


	6. The Wings of a Bomb

By the time the Doctor mustered the courage to look, Lucifer's human face had returned. His eyes were closed, but the rise and fall of his chest told him that the Doctor hadn't done too much damage.  
It took a few minutes of listening to their separate breaths before Lucifer's eyes opened, staring up at the ceiling as he gathered his thoughts. Once he did so, he looked over at the Time Lord and groaned. "What happened?" When he didn't garner a response, he propped himself up on his elbows and took a look at his surroundings. "What a mess."  
The Doctor could pinpoint the exact moment that the fog in Lucifer's mind cleared, the clouds parting to reveal the events leading up to his being knocked out. His face hardened, his body tensed, and he looked over at the Doctor with widened eyes. "Doctor, I-"  
"Don't," he interrupted.  
"I'm sorry,"  
"Don't. Just... Don't,"  
Lucifer took the time to sit up then. "I don't understand," he said, rubbing his forehead. "An entire year." He paused. "Was it real?"  
"Yes," the Doctor was being decidedly blunt, staring emptily at a chair in the corner of the room. "Time was reversed, though. People who weren't there wouldn't - shouldn't - have remembered it."  
The devil fiddled with his hand in an uncharacteristic display of anxiety. "So why do I?"  
"Remembering something is just reactivating the connections that were active when the memory was made. If someone could get in there - if someone knew what happened, and they had the power to, then they could rebuild those connections from the ground up," he was completely monotonous as he spoke. "You had some vague memory of it, I think. You said you told stories about me earlier. Your mind isn't human. It's more objective, more specific. Like deja vu. You knew you had, you just couldn't remember."  
"Oh," Lucifer breathed out. "That man -"  
"The Master. Harold Saxon,"  
"You knew him?"  
"Once," the Doctor breathed in sharply. "Dead now, though. You'll know that part."  
"And the woman. Martha,"  
The Doctor moved his eyes from the chair and looked at Lucifer. "My friend,"  
"Is she -"  
"No. She's okay. She went home,"  
"Right. Good. I think I liked her," Lucifer pursed his lips and began idly collecting the glass shards that littered the ground. "I was so _angry_."  
"You had a year's worth of negative emotions pushed on you all at once. Your mind was on fire trying to process it."  
Lucifer didn't reply then, and the Doctor guessed that despite the explanation, he was finding a way to blame himself for the outburst.   
"It's the same reason Mary was so fragmented, probably. I just don't understand how he got inside your head,"  
The devil's eyes narrowed. "He touched me. My shoulder,"  
This piqued the Doctor's interest, and finally, the life returned to his eyes. "He wouldn't shake my hand."

The incessant, shrill chime of Lucifer's phone interrupted their revelation. As before, the screen illuminated with the word 'Decker'.  
"You should answer that," the Doctor said.  
"I know," came the response. Still, the phone rang. "She can leave a message."  
It kept ringing and ringing and ringing, resonating and bouncing off the walls of the club; and when it stopped, it began again seconds later.  
"She's not going to leave a message," Lucifer sighed, reluctantly answering the phone and triggering the loudspeaker. "Hello."  
"Who is he, Lucifer?"   
"Sorry?" He asked reflexively, looking to the Doctor with a shocked expression.  
"The Doctor. I looked him up on the database. His file is classified."  
"I imagine it was." He commented. "He's a friend. There's no need to worry."  
"Are you kidding me?" Her mood was difficult to discern over the phone, but her tone suggested that she was rather stressed. "You were a _mess_, Lucifer, and then you show up with this Doctor as if nothing happened. Is that it? Is he a therapist? Is that how you know him?"  
"He's a friend," Lucifer repeated. "Why are you so worried?"  
"I care about you! And you're going 'round with someone who has a file that _no one_ can access under _UNIT regulations_, whatever the hell that means," she paused. "You're so close with Jeremy and today you looked at him like he was a stranger. What's going _on_ with you?"  
Lucifer reeled at the mention of Jeremy, pulling a face and shaking his head purely for effect. "There's nothing -" he started, then shook his head. "I'm dealing with it. You're on the database now, you said?"   
"Yeah. Why?"  
"Search for Jeremy,"  
"Why?"  
"Please, just do it," Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just humour me."  
"But why?" God, she was stubborn.  
"Detective," he pleaded.  
There was a grumbled "fine," on the line, followed by the sound of typing, then clicking. Then more typing, then more clicking. This cycle continued, crescendoing with frantic speed. "I have to go," she spluttered, and before Lucifer could respond, the line was dead.  
"Should I have done that?" Lucifer asked, pressing his fingers to his temples.   
The Doctor shrugged in response. "Time will tell."

"What do you think he is?" Lucifer asked after a few minutes of nervous tapping and pacing. "Jeremy. Obviously."  
"I'm not sure," the Doctor responded. "But whatever it is, I'm not a fan."  
"Could you find out?"  
"Probably. I could perform a bioscan. He might not have bad intentions," he said hopefully, but his face betrayed his doubt. "Knowing my luck, though, he probably does."  
"We should do that, then," Lucifer said, tense. "What if he does something to her?"  
"What?"  
"He made a woman think she was a serial killer for driving too quickly," Lucifer's tone gave away the wave of stress he was poorly riding. "What if he makes her think she's a... Bloody hell, I don't know."  
"It'll be okay," the Doctor said. "We'll figure it out."


	7. A Makeshift Gauge

Lucifer spent the remainder of that morning medicating his anxiety with a fresh bottle of whiskey. The two exchanged a few words every now and then, when they encountered a thought, but other than that, the situation was being processed through both of their heads in an individual manner. Whether this was due to differences of opinion or experience wasn't certain, but the frantic and uncertain nature of the situation certainly was.

The farce of calm was interrupted by the swing and creak of the door that led to the inside of Lux, followed by the telltale slam that told them that whoever had entered didn't have the time to close the door behind them gracefully.  
The Doctor wasn't surprised when he looked up and saw the familiar face of Chloe Decker. What triggered a sense of shock was the way she looked in comparison to the pristine image of her he held in his memory. Her hair was matted and messy as though she had been running her hair through it. Her eyes were puffy and slightly bloodshot, lying upon a canvas of blanched, splotchy skin.  
"Detective," Lucifer put his glass down and shot in her direction. "Are you okay?"  
She responded first with a half-hearted nod, then screwed up her face, shaking her head. "I don't know what's going on." She choked. "I was so sure I knew who he was. We worked so many cases. I _know_ we worked cases together, but I looked through the files and he's _nowhere_. And he -" she pointed in the Doctor's direction. "He - I don't even know who he is."  
"He's fixing this. _We're_ fixing this." Lucifer spoke smoothly in an attempt to soothe her clearly troubled mind.  
"How?" She barked, evolving from a state of despair to anger. "You're acting like you know what's going on. It doesn't make sense! None of this makes sense! Am I going crazy? Is that it? Did I make Jeremy up?"  
Lucifer's gaze softened. "No. You're fine. It's more complicated than that."  
"Then _explain_, Lucifer!"  
"I want to," his voice was almost pitiful. "I really want to. I don't know what's going on myself."  
"Your database," the Doctor piped up, turning their attention to himself. "Could you access it from anywhere?"  
"I brought my laptop," she responded, waving at her bag. "There are files on there. Why?"  
The Doctor answered by gesturing for her to hand it to him. When she hesitated, he smiled. "If I do anything dodgy, you can arrest me on the spot."  
With a sigh, she pulled the laptop out of her bag, logged into it, and handed it to him. "Go wild,"

"Right," the Doctor said under his breath. He pulled his sonic screwdriver out of his inside pocket and began his work. In a matter of seconds, he had a flurry of windows open on the screen.  
"What was that?" Chloe whispered to Lucifer.  
"No idea," he smiled despite himself as he watched the Time Lord type away at the laptop.

"Torchwood," the Doctor said victoriously once a few minutes of frantic tapping had passed.  
"Who?" Was the response from Lucifer.  
"It's an institution that was set up by Queen Victoria. It's a long story. But I have a friend running one of the only remaining hubs. His team experienced something very similar at the beginning of this year."  
Chloe walked toward the Doctor, fascinated. "Really? What did they do?"  
"It doesn't say," he said. "But look. Adam Smith. Manipulated their team's memories to believe he'd been there for two years. Really messed with their lives."  
"So how do we find out how to fix it?" Chloe asked, leaning forward to read the file. When he noticed this, the Doctor closed the tab hastily.  
"I'll have a chat with my friend," he tensed his jaw. "You have a phone." Once again, he gestured for it to be handed to him. This time, she didn't hesitate in placing the device into his hand and only watched as he bashed numbers into the keypad.

"Hello," the Doctor said when the line was picked up.   
"Hello?" The confused voice of a Welshman over the phone. "Who is this? How did you get this number?"  
"Is this Torchwood?" The Doctor asked, ignoring the questions.  
There was a pause. "Yes,"  
"Right. Can you get me Jack?"  
"And who should I say is calling?" The voice on the line was sceptical.  
"The Doctor,"  
The man on the line spluttered, tripping over his own words. "Right away, sir." There was a pause as the man assumably went to retrieve Jack. Urgent, almost inaudible voices sounded through the tinny connection and after a few seconds, a rustle implied that the phone had been picked up.  
"Doctor?"  
"Hello, Jack,"   
"Thought I'd finally got you off my tail," he could hear the smile in Jack's voice. "How are you?"   
"Fine. No. Not calling for chitchat," the Doctor said. "I have a bit of a situation here. I think you might be able to help me."  
"Those are words I never thought I'd hear from you."  
"Adam Smith,"  
The cheeky comebacks halted immediately. "What about him?"  
"I'm in Los Angeles. New man at their police precinct, but everyone remembered him. Fit the bill, I thought," he said, trying to be succinct.  
"Yeah. It does,"  
"So how did you deal with it?"  
"He relied on other people's memory of him to survive. The team took retcons and he disappeared."   
"Retcons?" Chloe asked quietly.  
"They induce amnesia," the Doctor explained.  
"Am I on a conference call?" Jack asked in an attempt to lift the mood.  
"I'm with friends," the Doctor said.  
"Cheat,"  
The Doctor chose to ignore that. "So you wiped their memories of him and he disappeared?"  
"Seems so, until now," Jack replied.  
"Okay. Thank you. I'll talk to you later."  
"Nice speaking to you," the captain said. "Hope you're doing okay."  
The Doctor hung up and handed the phone back to Chloe.

"So that's that, then," Lucifer said. "We wipe everyone's memory of him. Seems easy."  
"It does, doesn't it?" The Doctor ran his fingers through his hair. "Easy. Yeah."  



	8. Ride the Wild Wind

The idea was simple. They would just have to wipe the minds of the people who had interacted closely with Jeremy recently. It was an in and out job, and yet the Doctor had been silent for a while. Chloe had left a little while after their epiphany to 'get ready', leaving the Doctor and Lucifer on their own once again.

The Doctor hadn't even noticed that Lucifer had left the room until he returned wearing a new, considerably more crisp suit. "Counting the bricks?" He asked through a smile, fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt.  
"Hm?" He looked up, then rose his eyebrows. "No. Thinking."  
"Anything interesting?"  
The Time Lord frowned. "I suppose so,"  
"I wanted to ask earlier," Lucifer paused. "How did Jack know about Adam if getting rid of him required his memory to be wiped?"  
"They would have noted it in their databases, just in case it happened again," he responded. "Knowing someone existed is different from remembering them."   
"Makes sense," Lucifer looked reflective for a moment, then continued speaking. "How will we forget?"  
"Could pop down to Torchwood, get some of their retcon pills," the Doctor rubbed his forehead. "You could come with me if you want."  
"Oh, I do,"

"A ride in the legendary TARDIS," Lucifer smiled as they left Lux. "What an honour. I should be wearing a nicer suit." He was only half-joking, but received a smirk from the Doctor regardless. The morning was reaching its peak outside, where the sun was beating down harshly on every corner and crevice. The bright sunlight starkly contrasted the normally dull, overcast weather that was a staple of Britain, making the TARDIS' blue look less vibrant by comparison. It sat overtly on the corner of the street, unnoticed.  
"Bit obvious, isn't it?" Lucifer commented. "The most advanced ship in the universe, planted in the middle of Los Angeles."  
"And not a single untoward glance," the Doctor quipped back. "Hiding in plain sight." He approached the door with his key in hand and attempted the lock. "I said danger," he said softly. "This is danger. Let me in."  
A wave of energy engulfed the two of them that somewhat resembled a discontented sigh. When the Doctor tried to unlock the door again, it worked, and he grinned. "Thank you," he whispered as he pushed the door open, stepping inside. "Come in,"

Lucifer wasn't sure what to expect when he entered the little box. He had heard the stories, of course, but that didn't do anything to prepare him for the sight that was in front of him. He began to look around with a childlike admiration but caught himself quickly. He wasn't going to gush. "It's a bit grunge, isn't it?"  
"Shut up,"  
Lucifer laughed. "Where are we going, then? Where's Torchwood?"   
The Doctor started pulling at levers and turning dials. "Cardiff Bay. I could give her a recharge, too. Park it on the rift," he tried his best not to think about the last time he had stationed at the rift, focusing instead on honing in on the correct location. With everything in order, he launched the ship into action, allowing the musical groan of the engine to fill the console room and embracing the rumble underneath his feet as they traversed the time vortex.  
"It's a bit bumpy," Lucifer pointed out, holding tightly on to a railing.   
"You take someone on a trip through the time vortex and they complain about the suspension," the Doctor chuckled. "I would call you the quintessential human, but you're not even that. You've gone native."  
This time it was Lucifer's turn to utter a grumbled "shut up," 

Within a few moments, they had landed, indicated by the toll of the engine. Learning from his mistakes, he checked their location and, once satisfied, made for the door, gesturing for Lucifer to join him.  
"Bloody hell," Lucifer exclaimed. "Cold, isn't it?"  
In an uncharacteristic act of schadenfreude, the Doctor gave him a wide grin in response to his complaints, choosing instead to approach the water tower, stopping abruptly.  
"Why have we stopped?"  
"We're here," the Doctor responded with a curt smile.  
"_This_ is Torchwood?" Lucifer spun around, searching the area. "There's nothing here. We're in the middle of a -"  
Unfortunately, Lucifer's complaints were interrupted by the sudden jutter of the slab they were standing on, followed by their descent into the vast hub. 

"I wasn't expecting you so early!" A voice called to them from across the room. Lucifer recognised it as the same voice that had been on the phone earlier. "I would have showered!"  
The platform anchored on the ground, allowing the two of them to admire the full extent of the hub. Before they could get too invested in the sights in front of them, a visceral screech echoed through the hub, coupled with the vague shadow of a flying creature.  
"What the _hell_ is that?" Lucifer yelped.  
"You've got a pterodactyl!" The Doctor grinned, the contrast of their reactions humorous.   
Jack emerged from a hallway, smiling at the two of them. "Her name is Myfanwy," he didn't hesitate in giving the Doctor a tight, brief hug before turning his attention to Lucifer. "You brought a friend," he smirked. "Captain Jack Harkness, and _who_ are you?" He held out a hand for Lucifer to shake.  
"The devil," the Doctor interjected. "You're flirting with the devil."  
"Everyone's got a bit of devil in them." Jack quipped, smiling when his hand was shaken.  
"No - he's - he's literally the devil. The biblical devil,"   
"In the flesh," Lucifer added, returning the smile.  
"I don't discriminate." Jack shot him a wink, then turned his attention back to the matter at hand. "You have an Adam, then."  
"Yes. But our Adam is a Jeremy,"  
"Adam and Jeremy. My kinda garden of Eden," Jack smirked. "So you need retcon, right?"  
"Yep," the Doctor nodded. "Quite a bit."  
"Right. How many are you thinking?"  
"Fifteen people?" The Doctor looked to Lucifer for confirmation. "He hasn't interacted with many people."  
"Okay," Jack nodded. With that, he turned and shouted: "Ianto!"

The echo of footsteps indicated Ianto's arrival. He was dressed in a pristine suit, a little frown etched on his features. "Hello," he greeted the Doctor and Lucifer with a nod.  
"My friends need retcon. Fifteen doses," Jack said. "You spoke to them on the phone."  
"From an American number," Ianto's brows knitted.  
"They don't pay attention to speed limits." Jack joked.  
"Okay," he paused. "Anything else?"  
"Coffee?" Jack gave a mock-pleading look.  
"Of course," he nodded. "Okay. I'll get that now in a minute." He turned and walked quickly down one of the many hallways.  
"_Now in a minute_?" Lucifer imitated Ianto with a little smirk.  
"Welsh," Jack responded with a vague wave of his hand. "Wait 'til you hear the rest."

Ianto returned with three mugs balanced on a tray and a nondescript box. He started by handing the box to the Doctor, then placed the tray down.  
"I don't like coffee," the Doctor commented almost guiltily.  
"I know. I've read your file," Ianto responded. "It's tea."  
"Oh," the Doctor's eyebrows shot up. "Anything on there I should be worried about?"  
"Treason," Ianto cracked his first smile. "And the rest."  
"Sounds about right," the Doctor grinned back at him, then began to examine the box he had been handed. When he opened it, he found a blister pack of plain pills.   
"Fifteen doses. You can count them if you like." Ianto said.  
"No, I believe you," the Doctor replied. He closed the box and slipped it into the inside pocket of his coat, then picked up the mug and took a long sip. "I haven't had tea in _ages_. I might have to keep you for myself."  
"Hands off," Jack interjected in a joking threat. "He's property of Torchwood."  
"That's a shame," the Doctor let out an exaggerated sigh. "If that changes, though..."  
"It won't," Ianto spoke firmly.  
"Shot down," Lucifer raised his eyebrows.  
"I'll do a swap. Lucifer for Ianto," the Doctor smiled.   
"Tempting," Jack drew the word out, then shook his head. "No. I think we're good. If Ianto left Wales, I think it would crumble." 

Despite everything happening a short jaunt across the Atlantic, the four of them were laughing and smiling as if they didn't have a care in the world. A wave of pure tranquillity had engulfed them, wrapping them in a warm and comforting atmospheric quilt. The rest of the world could wait for a little while.


	9. Sitting in a Tin Can

“So, he’s the immortal one?”

The two were back in the TARDIS with bloodstreams filled with caffeine. They had left on a happy note, with Jack giving the two of them all-engulfing, inescapable hugs and promises to come back when everything had been smoothed over. The Doctor had reluctantly agreed, but a conversation only spoken through eye contact communicated that that probably wouldn’t be returning for a very long time. There was always _something_ going on, after all, and now that the Doctor knew that Cardiff, and the rift, for that matter, were in safe hands, the itching to check up on the hub had become little more than a thought compartmentalised in the crawlspace of the Time Lord’s mind. He would return, he was sure, but it wasn’t likely to be a very commonplace activity. They had earned their independence from him, despite his previous suspicion regarding the trustworthiness of the Torchwood Institute. He retained the same respect for Jack as he had for Martha, and though the contexts of their separations were very different, the precedent remained. Jack needed his space to assert his position as a leader rather than one of the Doctor’s lackeys, just as Martha needed her independence to thrive and succeed on her own.  
He was still thinking about Martha, though, and every time he looked at Lucifer, he thought about her journey. He had spent a lot of time mulling over the year he hadn’t been there for, and Lucifer had somehow found himself providing solace to her in a world inundated with catastrophe. A thought had blossomed into an idea into a plan, and he found himself going off track just one more time.  
“Yes,” he responded.  
“How did that happen?” Lucifer asked.  
“He died,” the Doctor paused. “My friend, she absorbed this energy. The heart of the TARDIS. She revived him, but she couldn’t control it. It went a bit too far.”  
“Martha?” The devil looked confused.  
“No,” he aimlessly tapped the side of the console. “Her name was – is – Rose. Gone now.”  
“Ah,” Lucifer decided he wouldn’t prod any further. “Where now, then?”  
“Do you want to meet her?” The question, despite prompt, seemed sudden. “Martha, I mean. We could. It’s a time machine. We could return a couple of seconds after we left LA.”  
Lucifer paused, rolling the thought over in his mind. “I’m not sure,” he concluded after a while. “I don’t think she’ll be expecting me to be who I am. I had a bit of a change of identity.” When he received a puzzled look, he continued. “Thomas Milligan. I had to hide who – what – I really was. Couldn’t have Saxon knowing that the devil walked the Earth.”  
“Makes sense,” the Doctor nodded. “I don’t think she’ll mind. She’ll probably be glad to see you, though.”  
Lucifer kept up the pensive expression. “Are you stalling?” He asked. He didn’t receive a reply, just another one of those unreadable, mystifying stares. “Okay. Let’s go for it, then.”  
The Doctor nodded, beginning the routine of moving the ship once again. When the floor began to rumble, he looked back up at Lucifer. “Why didn’t you leave?”  
“Hm?”  
“Earth, I mean. During that year. I guessed that you would have had a direct route to Hell,”  
Lucifer seemed to wrack his mind for the memory, and when he fell upon it, his face fell. “Chloe,” he said solemnly. “Saxon culled a tenth of the population, and she ended up in that percentile.”  
“I’m sorry,” he wasn’t sure what else to say.  
“I went haywire for a while. I didn’t know what to do. I was so _angry_. I wanted him dead. I knew that wouldn’t bring her back, but I just wanted him dead. Heard whispers about a woman walking the Earth to take him down, and that was that.” He raised his eyebrows. “It doesn’t matter. He’s dead now. Chloe’s fine. World’s back to normal.”  
The Doctor looked down, thankful to feel the TARDIS land so he had an excuse not to continue the conversation. “London. She should be home. Stay here for a bit.”

The Doctor exited, stepping outside to find that their arrival had not been very subtle. The door to Martha's home swung open and lo and behold, the woman who walked the Earth was advancing toward him with a beaming smile.  
"Doctor," she greeted. "I wasn't expecting you. I'm on leave."  
"On leave?" The Doctor feigned ignorance. "From where?"  
"UNIT. They called about a day after I came home. Said I'd been given a glowing recommendation by a very trustworthy source,"  
"I wonder who that could've been," he smiled down at her. "Tell you what, I found someone the other day."  
"Oh?"  
"Mmm, bit of a character. Very interesting. Got to chatting, you know me," he rapped the TARDIS' door with his knuckles. "I thought you'd like to meet him."

Lucifer emerged from the box with a sheepish smile that looked out of place on a face that normally oozed nonchalance. "Hello, Martha Jones," he said softly.  
"You found him," Martha whispered through a sharp, exhaled breath, then launched him into a hug. "I looked you up on everything. I had everyone I knew looking for a Thomas Milligan, and I couldn't find you."  
"That's because it's not my name," Lucifer said hesitantly. "It's Lucifer. I'm afraid I was a tad undercover."  
"Lucifer," Martha tried the name out, examining his expression. Suddenly, she turned to the Doctor. "How does he remember? You said -"  
"We're in a bit of a situation," the Doctor answered. "Some creature with an affinity for memories." He gestured in Lucifer's direction. "It made him remember it all at once. The whole year."  
Martha looked at Lucifer sympathetically. While the memories of the year weighed heavy in her mind, the thought of reliving it all within seconds made her skin crawl. In an attempt to dissipate the tense atmosphere, she turned to raise her eyebrows at the Doctor. "Still up to your old tricks, then? Being the saviour of the universe?" She chuckled.  
The Doctor pulled a face. "When you put it like that, it makes me sound pompous,"   
She hummed in response, but her attention switched quickly back to Lucifer. "You remember it all?" Her gleeful expression seemed to waver as a melancholy thought crossed her mind. "Even the end?" She asked, much quieter.  
"Yeah," Lucifer's usual cockiness had been thrown to the wind. The new memories burned like infected wounds - ghostly pains of the Master's laser screwdriver resonating through his skeleton, all but eviscerating his internal organs. He shook the thought away. "All done now, though."  
"Where did he find you, then?" She asked.  
"Los Angeles. I have a club," he gave a vague wave.  
"You didn't seem the type," Martha considered him for a moment, as if seeing him for the very first time. "It's nice to see you."  
It appeared that she didn't know how to approach Lucifer. She wasn't seeing him as the man she powered through adversity with, but rather someone she once knew, but no longer did; like they had become friends during the early years of school and drifted apart slowly over decades. The feeling was irksome, the confusion between the two almost palpable. The Doctor didn't know what he was expecting - a joyous reunion or a hard slap - but it certainly wasn't this.   
"I work a bit for the LAPD on the side," Lucifer seemed to be defending his lifestyle.  
"That's quite a side job," she raised her eyebrows, but the tense atmosphere dissipated with a smile. "I'm glad you're okay. I'm glad you're real, to be honest,"  
"Real as can be," he said it almost shamefully. A silence settled between the three.  
"Listen, I would invite you in, but my family's gone a bit..." She widened her eyes. "I have to go."  
"Right. Well, it was good to see you," the Doctor smiled. "Good luck."  
Lucifer remained quite quiet. A visible conflict flashed across his features - an argument with himself that lasted a very brief second. "Martha," he started, faltering over her name as though he hadn't expected himself to say it. "Thank you."  
She looked confused. "For what?"  
That fight tore across his features once again. This time, the quiet won, and he gave a pained little smile before nodding to the Doctor. "I'm going to head back in," he didn't wait for an acknowledgement before he slunk back inside the TARDIS, leaving the Doctor and Martha on their own.

"Sorry. I don't know how I expected that to go," he said almost dejectedly.  
"Things are different," Martha said through a wry smile. "Even if he does remember."  
"Are you glad he does?" The question was weighing on his mind.   
"It didn't shape him, did it?" She shrugged. "It's different for him. He can see it all in his head, but the rest of him hasn't caught up." The bodily scars weren't there. The reflexes, the anxieties, all on the backburner. "I knew Tom for a while. He's the end result, I guess. And he's not..."  
"He's not Tom," the Doctor nodded.  
"He's like a shadow of him," she pondered the thought. "Like... When we were on the run from the Family of Blood. Catching memories of who you were like dust in the wind. It didn't mean anything to you, though."  
The Doctor's eyebrows raised at that. "I suppose so."  
"Tom was Lucifer, definitely," she continued. "But Lucifer isn't Tom." Her brow furrowed. "I don't know if that makes any sense," she checked her watch and gawked at the time displayed. "I really have to go. But I'll see you, yeah?" She smiled hopefully, pulled him into a quick hug, and ran off.  
She didn't look back.

He watched after her even as she turned around the corner and sighed softly before re-entering his ship.


	10. Past Lives

When the Doctor re-entered the TARDIS, he didn't see Lucifer.  
The ship was humming lowly. An 'off' energy engulfed him, making his blood pump just a little faster the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He searched the console room for the devil, eventually laying his eyes on the man sitting with his back against the far wall. He was staring vacantly at nothing in particular.   
"Lucifer?" The Doctor asked, rushing over to him. "Are you alright?"  
It took a moment, but Lucifer dragged his gaze over to the Doctor. "Yes," his voice faltered, so he tried again. "Yes, I'm fine," it was clear that he was attempting to sound sure, but his shrunken frame betrayed him.  
The Doctor sat down next to him. "It made it real, didn't it?" He asked. He didn't attempt to face Lucifer as he spoke, settling his eyes on the centre console.  
Lucifer let out an affirmative hum. "I remembered most of it. It was just the details," he drew in a quick breath, as though pained. "I hadn't really thought about what happened to Chloe. I just assumed that she wasn't impacted. Like she was beyond being hurt. But I saw her being..." He choked on the words. "She had this ring..." He smiled painfully. "I kept it."  
"She's okay now, though," the Doctor said softly. "Now is what matters."  
"But my father let her die, Doctor," he turned his head toward the Time Lord. "He let her die then. What stops him from letting her die now, or in a week, or in a month?"  
The Doctor would be the first to admit that he wasn't a firm believer in the idea of divine intervention, but the words seared him nevertheless. "If she hadn't died, would you have found Martha?"  
Lucifer blinked a few times and returned his gaze to the wall. "No,"  
"Maybe that was your father's plan all along. Maybe he knew it wouldn't be permanent," the Doctor offered. Lucifer didn't seem completely satisfied with the thought, likely preferring to blame his dad for every negative experience under the sun, but let out a deep sigh. "Come on, then. Memory manipulators to catch." The Doctor patted Lucifer's back firmly, hoisting himself up to get them back to Los Angeles, a few minutes after they left.

The TARDIS materialised in a cupboard inside the precinct, saving them the journey from Lux. Thankfully, the door was facing the correct direction - requiring no awkward turns - and they could leave without another word.  
The hallways were silent bar the soft noise of their shoes hitting the ground, creating a sense of dread between the two. It was mid-morning now; the department should have been bustling with detectives and officers alike on the heels of some new case.  
But no. When they entered the main foyer, the silence was explained by the severe lack of people. A silent police department, along with abandoned hospitals and derelict schools brought about a sense of disquiet to the Doctor. There was always an atmosphere of danger - a mystery that hadn't reared its head yet. From a quick glance, the Doctor deduced that this discomfort was shared by Lucifer. Strangely, this made him feel a little more at ease. 

In a pathetic parody of a Bond villain, an office chair in the far corner of the room span and revealed Jeremy, who had an eyebrow cocked.  
"Have you been expecting us?" Lucifer snarked, his cocky grin masking his manifesting dread.  
"Where is everyone?" The Doctor asked immediately after. "What did you do to them?"  
Jeremy stood, making a show of stretching and cracking his knuckles. "I didn't do anything. They just remembered that they had an emergency to tend to,"  
The Doctor took a hesitant step forward. "I don't know what you're doing here, but -"  
"Save it," Jeremy rolled his eyes dramatically. "You're going to stop me because you're Earth's perfect little protector. Isn't that right?" He smiled then. "But you're not, are you? Locked up on that little ship, caged and mocked."  
"Don't let him provoke you," Lucifer whispered.  
"Go on, Doctor. You're younger than him," Jeremy pointed at Lucifer. "But you've seen _so much more_. Let me have a look," he moved so insidiously that the two barely noticed that he was within an arm's length until they could hear his ragged breaths.  
"Don't," Lucifer pushed desperately. "Doctor..."  
"Go on, then," the Doctor spoke monotonously. "Knock yourself out." He was being arrogant, and a voice in the back of his head told him so. There was a genuine belief in the Time Lord's mind that he could overpower whatever Jeremy was, and he was adamant that he could withstand any memory Jeremy pulled up.  
Upon the Doctor's consent, Jeremy's smile stretched to a contorted caricature of his own face. His mouth looked too big for the rest of his face, green eyes glinting with what could only be described as malicious excitement. Slowly, he reached out and touched the Doctor's temple with fleeting, gentle fingers. 

The Doctor was wrong.

It only took a second for thousands of memories to be dragged from the depths of his mind. Flashes of Susan; of Jo Grant; of his Sarah Jane, right down to the fresher, sharper wounds of the Time War and his subsequent actions. The children who wept for their lives. His entire brain felt like it was on fire, but the attack was relentless. Rose, flinching when he grabbed her hand for the first time. Saving her father. Dissolving the Dalek Emperor with a wave of a hand. Retaining hope while stranded on a planet in orbit of a black hole. Almost falling into the void, and standing on a beach, and crying, and telling him -  
Saying goodbye to Joan Redfern. Losing the Face of Boe. Being possessed by a sentient sun and watching the world burn from a ship high in the sky.  
_"LET HIM GO!"_  
The Doctor was launched back into reality, gasping for air. He was frozen in sensory shock, only able to watch as Lucifer stood over Jeremy with that same demonic face, visibly enraged. Jeremy was crumpled in a heap on the ground, though breathed steadily. "You don't frighten me," he wheezed, looking up at the devil. "I've already won."  
"And how's that?" Lucifer snarled, his voice distorted and rough.  
Jeremy raised a hand that held a nondescript white box. "This was your plan?" He chuckled. "It's quite pathetic, really." He took the tablet blisters out from the box, making a show of examining them. When Lucifer swiped out to grab them, Jeremy reflexively clenched his fist, turning the retcon pills into little more than dust. "Oh dear," he muttered. "That really is a shame, isn't it?"  
"You bastard," Lucifer spat, his anger peaking. "I'll kill you myself."  
"Just like you did to your brother?" Jeremy retorted coldly, smirking at the shock that settled on Lucifer's blistered red skin. "Oh, that was _delicious_. So fresh." He hissed. Lucifer, like the Doctor, was frozen to the spot, only able to stare down at the man who was now picking himself up, dusting himself off, and giving a mocking bow. "Thank you, boys, but I think I'll be going now. Have fun."

A crashing, horrendous noise tore through the quiet room, accompanied by a little flash and, immediately after, the soft sound of a small, metal object bouncing off the floor.


	11. A Longing to Leave

The noise bounced off the walls of the precinct, reverberating and ricocheting into their ears, leaving them with the temporary tinnitus that left Lucifer and the Doctor momentarily stunned. The spell was broken, however, by the telltale sound of a body falling to its knees, and when their attention turned to the source of the sound, they saw Jeremy, letting out a flurry of guttural groans from his knelt position.  
The Doctor raised his head to witness Chloe Decker, still posed with the gun, staring with mouth agape at the sight in front of her. For a moment, he was confused - until he followed her eye line to Lucifer, whose skin was still blistered and red and littered with scars.  
"Chloe," the Doctor breathed. His mouth was dry. Even saying her name took the same effort as traipsing the Sahara desert in the peak of summer. She let out a weak, disjointed breath, still fixated on Lucifer.  
"Detective," Lucifer smiled with an uncomfortable lack of self-awareness. "Just in the nick of time."  
Another wheeze, quickly becoming a sob. "Lucifer?" She asked, lowering the gun and raising her other hand to cover her mouth. "Your face. It's -"  
Lucifer's own breath caught then, and before both of their eyes, his face transformed to that of his regular human appearance.  
"You're really -" her thoughts were clearly scrambled, but she stopped herself, took a deep, laboured breath in, and gulped down the lump in her throat. "Is he okay?" She gestured to Jeremy, taking the time to slot her pistol into her belt. He grunted in response, various syllables that vaguely resembled insults spilling from his throat in her direction.  
"Looks it," the Doctor said. "There was no need to shoot him." Luckily, the bullet appeared to have only grazed the side of his chest. There wasn't much blood - a lot of the theatrics appeared to be a result of shock.  
"You looked like you needed the help," she commented. It was clear that she was avoiding settling her gaze upon Lucifer, rattled by the shock of what she saw. "What do we do with him?"  
"Find out where he came from and take him back," the Doctor responded with a shrug. Below them, Jeremy's grunts morphed into a deep laugh.  
"I don't come from anywhere," he wheezed.  
"What does that mean?" Lucifer asked. Instead of supplementing the man with another question, the Doctor fumbled with his suit pocket to retrieve his sonic screwdriver and scan him.  
After a few seconds of the high pitched trill of the device, the Doctor let out a noise. "An anamnesis parasite,"  
"A _what_?" Chloe asked, walking a tad closer.  
"A member of the Trickster's Brigade. They change little details in people's lives. Tiny ones, ones that can be compensated for," he knelt down then, taking a good, long look at Jeremy - who looked triumphant despite his predicament.  
"Why?" She questioned again.  
"The Trickster's Brigade?" Lucifer followed.  
"Chaos," the Doctor answered. "The Trickster is a being that thrives on pure and unadulterated chaos. Chaos without rhyme or reason. It's his blood, his food, his _air_. He was cast out to a void outside of the universe, but he climbs through the cracks every so often. And when he does, he releases these little minions so that he can get his feed."  
"And what now, Doctor?" Jeremy asked, his voice strained. "Will you show me the mercy you're so renowned for?"  
It was a challenge, and he knew that it was a challenge. Jeremy's vessel was injured, so much was obvious, but this would not be the last of his trists if he was left to his own devices. In the conflict, he looked to Chloe.  
"What would you do?" He asked, his brow knitted.  
"He's dangerous," she answered immediately. "He can't just _stay_ here. He's a _thing_. He could hurt people. He _has_ hurt people. You were on the floor. Did he hurt you?" Her aggression metamorphosed into concern for the Doctor, but he noted that while Lucifer stood between them, her gaze skirted away from him.  
"I'm fine," he responded, then looked to Lucifer to offer him the same question. Lucifer stared blankly at him, let out an almost inaudible noise, and turned away.  
"If he didn't hurt you, he'll hurt someone else," Chloe said softly. In response, Jeremy grumbled. "He could start _wars_."  
"You do that all on your own," Jeremy laughed despite himself and turned his head laboriously toward the Doctor. "I know that you can't."  
"Oh? And why's that?" Lucifer interjected. He looked furious. "What makes you think the Doctor is the figure of authority in this situation?"  
The Doctor's jaw tensed. "You've seen the inside of my head. You know that I have. You know that I can."  
"That's exactly why you won't," his grin was comparable to the Cheshire cat. "You can't justify it. There's an innocent in here, somewhere."  
"What?" Chloe seemed shocked. "What does that mean?"  
"It's a parasite," the look of realisation passed over Lucifer's face rapidly. "It's controlling a host. If we kill him, we kill the host."  
"So we get it out," Chloe said.  
Another laugh. "You can try," he hummed. "Dig into his brain, pull me out. I'd like to see what that would leave him with."  
"You don't have to do this. You could do so much good," the Doctor stepped forward. "You could grant dementia patients their memories. You could give peace to ex-soldiers."  
"This was what I was made to do," Jeremy replied defiantly.  
"That doesn't control what you do now," he pleaded. "Jeremy's gone. He's dead, and you're wearing his skin. I bet his memories are all floating around in there. All the love and the hurt, all those emotions burning like a sun. Please, don't waste that."  
Jeremy seemed hesitant. A new expression took hold of his face, and the Doctor was convinced that he had _finally _gotten through to someone, when -

The now-familiar sound of a gunshot. In half a second, blood was pooling on the floor around his head, his expression frozen in a cocky smirk, the words lying on his tongue replaced by a puff of ghostly breath as the air was forced out of his lungs. The Doctor let out a furious, ravaged _"NO!"_ and dropped to the ground. He let out a few laboured, frustrated groans. "He didn't even get the _chance_!" Eyes filled with rage began looking wildly for the source of the bullet until they settled on the woman at the top of the stairs.  
The three stared at her, illuminated by the light from the window behind her. Her blonde hair, glowing like a halo, was the first thing the Doctor saw. Suspended in disbelief, the Doctor blinked away the reminiscent memory of a very similar image. He knew this wasn't who he yearned for, and yet hope, as dastardly as ever, was tugging at his hearts, praying that the figure in front of him was the same one branded on the inside of his skull.   
Fate was cruel, though, and the amount of hope he had harboured in his hearts was shattered in an instant when he heard her voice.  
"Oh my god," she wheezed, rushing down the stairs to reach them. "I shot him."  
"Who are you?" Chloe flinched back, reaching for the pistol in her belt.  
"Mary," Lucifer conceded.

She looked different. Her hair was clean, her eyes bright - though dusted with shocked tears - and her skin shining. She looked nothing like the version of herself from only a while earlier, all gaunt and matted and dirty, but her voice was recognisable. That same palpable fear, tinged by the threat of an oncoming sob.  
"What are you doing here?" Chloe relaxed, staring between her and the cadaver separating them. "Why did you do that?"  
"I heard him talking," Mary responded, steadying her speech with some deep breaths. "I heard all of you talking. About how he was dangerous."  
"You didn't have to shoot him," the Doctor said, his voice little more than a growl.  
"Why are you here?" Lucifer pushed. "With a gun? Were you planning this?"  
"No!" She didn't sound very convincing. "Yes." Her expression fell. "I knew it was him. You asked me when I remembered, and he was there. He looked proud of himself when I turned myself in. I thought he had hypnotised me, or something." She scoffed at herself, aware that it sounded preposterous. "But I heard you talking. About him being a parasite. I had to. I had to, he was _taunting _you because none of you were going to do anything." Her face twisted. "Am I gonna go to prison?"  
"No," Chloe said after a thoughtful pause. "No. He was dangerous. You were being brave." She glanced back at Lucifer then, but couldn't catch his gaze. "I'll take you home." The decision was made almost instantly, and she didn't turn to say goodbye to either of them, leaving them on their own with Jeremy's body. 

Lucifer looked to the Doctor, who stared down at the body in front of him with an unreadable expression. "Are you angry?"  
In response, the Time Lord knelt, brushing his fingers over Jeremy's eyelids to close them.   
"What are we going to do about the body?" Lucifer seemed anxious.  
"Nothing," the Doctor responded softly. "The parasite will detect the host is dead, and it will destroy itself. Can't analyse something if it's nothing more than -"  
His sentence was interrupted when he noticed that Jeremy's body had begun to bulge. His chest expanded, as though he was taking a deep breath, and his face began to swell. There was a pause; a moment of clarity, and a pop, as what used to be the host of the anamnesis parasite exploded into nothing more than dust, leaving behind no bones; or muscle; or blood, he was simply gone, leaving behind what looked like a pile of sand, stained by the blood that had spilt before he decomposed.   
"Bloody hell," Lucifer gawked. "Quite an exit."  
The Doctor nodded somberly. "Is your flask empty?" He asked. In response, Lucifer took it from his pocket, took a few long gulps, and handed it to him.  
"It is now."  
"Thank you," he began to push the dust into the hip flask, meticulously collecting and inserting every particle. Lucifer looked on, his heart aching for the Time Lord.  
"Are you alright?" He asked, taking a step forward once all that was left of Jeremy's body was gone.  
"Fine," the Doctor forced a smile. It looked more like a grimace.  
"Right," Lucifer thought it smart to change the subject. "She saw me."  
"Hm?"  
"Chloe saw my devil face," he said.  
"Oh," the Doctor's eyes widened. "She didn't know?"  
"She _knew_, she just didn't believe me," he corrected. "She's going to hate me."  
"Probably," the Doctor stood, putting them at the same eye level. "And then she'll love you."  
Lucifer didn't seem convinced. "How'd you figure that one out?"  
"She'll hate you. It will be passionate and irrational and it will take over all of her thoughts, and then she'll stop hating you, but the irrationality and the passion will stay there," he offered a little smile. Momentarily, it was returned.  
"I hope so," 

"What now, then?" Lucifer asked.  
"I think it's time for me to go," the Doctor said, already beginning his stroll to the cupboard the TARDIS sat in.  
"What do you mean, it's time to go?" He sounded incredulous. "You can't just _leave_. There's so much more to do!"  
The Doctor looked back at him with a little smile. "I've got things to do, you know? People to see. Don't want to get stuck in LA forever."  
"There were people I wanted you to meet," it was clear Lucifer was getting upset. "All those memories of that year. You're going to leave me with them?"  
"I can get rid of them if you want," he offered blandly.  
"No, I didn't mean that. I want them. I'd prefer to know," he gulped.  
"You're a good man, Lucifer. They're proof of that,"  
"What did Jeremy show you?" Lucifer waved his hand at the flask in the Doctor's hand.  
The Doctor searched for an answer. "I saw my friends," he decided. "And my planet."  
"And that's bad?"  
"No," he shook his head. "Never bad. I don't think he expected how happy I would be to see some of them again." A little, pitiful smile. "Even if it hurt." His hand rested on the door handle that would open the cupboard, but he wasn't satisfied with leaving yet. "Jeremy said something about your brother."  
"I killed him," Lucifer's face fell.  
"Why?"  
"He was going to kill Chloe. And my mother," he paused. "And me."  
"D'you regret it?"  
"More than anything,"  
"So why -" the Doctor's brow knitted. "You met a man with a time machine after doing something you regretted, and you didn't ask him to go back and fix it."  
"No, I didn't," Lucifer chuckled. "It crossed my mind, but it was the only option. There were so many things that could have changed before that, but the result would always be the same."  
The Time Lord was pleasantly surprised and offered him a nod. "It'll be okay," he said. "Everything is, in the end."  
"I would certainly hope so,"  
The Doctor opened the door to the cupboard and approached the TARDIS, thankful that when he inserted the key it didn't fight against him. Lucifer followed after him, standing a few feet away.  
"You'll come back, won't you?" Lucifer seemed anxious to ask the question and it showed. He composed himself quickly, choosing to add "I'm going to want my flask back one day."  
The Doctor opened the TARDIS door. "You'll see me again." He nodded.   
"Soon?"  
He smiled, stepped inside and in a few seconds, the wheeze and groan of the TARDIS sounded and it dematerialised.  
  



	12. The Vortex Calling

It was seven months until the Doctor stepped foot in Los Angeles again. This time, though, he didn't land on a street corner.

No, he arrived in the centre of Lucifer's penthouse. 

"How long's it been?" He called out as he exited the box, a wide smile on his face. "You home?" He spun to the left, and found himself with a blade pointed at his throat.  
"Who are you?" The woman in front of him asked. She looked furious, and if the knife against his adam's apple was telling of anything, she wasn't happy with his arrival.  
"Well, I was expecting a warmer welcome," he raised his eyebrows. "I don't think we've met."  
"What do you want with him? And what the hell is that?" With her free hand, she pointed at the TARDIS.   
"Just thought I'd pop in. He's a friend," he defended himself. "That's my ship. Don't be rude."  
"Your ship?" There was an element of disbelief, but it was clear she had seen it materialise in front of her eyes. "So what, you're an alien?"  
"Yeah," the Doctor moved his head back carefully. "You can put that away now."  
She didn't seem happy with that, and moved the blade back against his neck. "Answer my question. Who are you?"  
"I'm the Doctor," he winced.  
"Doctor what?"  
"Almost," he was itching to clear his throat, but feared the slice of skin that would follow. "Really. I'm unarmed. Just visiting."   
She didn't seem convinced, but let out a sharp huff of breath and removed the knife from his neck. The pressure had left a subtle indent on his throat, which he rubbed once he was freed from the immediate threat.  
"That's better, isn't it?" He smiled. "Where is he, then?"  
"What are you a doctor of?" It appeared her interrogation hadn't stopped now that she wasn't holding a weapon to his skin. "He's never mentioned you."  
"This and that," he shrugged the question off, then feigned offence. "Really? Not even once?"  
"Nope,"   
"Who are you, then?" He ventured to ask, raising an eyebrow.  
"Mazikeen," she answered. 

He was ready to point out that Mazikeen hadn't answered his previous question about where the devil was, but convenient timing saved the awkward dialogue between them when the lift chimed, announcing its inhabitant's arrival. The doors dragged open slowly to reveal the man behind them, who seemed to be completely oblivious to the Doctor's presence.  
When he entered their line of view, Lucifer was fiddling with his cufflinks. When he finally raised his head, he performed a theatrical double-take, lost all interest in whatever his sleeve was bothering him with, and smiled a wide smile.  
"Doctor," he exclaimed, advancing toward the man with open arms. "It's been a while. I thought you wouldn't come back."  
In response, the Time Lord embraced the devil - much to Mazikeen's visible shock. If she hadn't believed that the Doctor was a friend of Lucifer before, she had no leg to stand on now. The proof was in the pudding - or in the hug, which was lasting just a tad longer than that of a normal, welcoming hug.  
"I thought I'd check in," the Doctor said once they had freed each other.  
"I'd think so. You haven't been very subtle recently," Lucifer commented. "Were you involved in the palaver with the stars? And those..." He waved his hand to search for a fitting word to describe the Daleks. "Things?"   
"'f course I was,"  
"Very impressive, I thought."  
"Well..." The Doctor shrugged the compliment off. "All in a day's work."  
"That was you?" Mazikeen interrupted their catch-up.  
"Certainly was," Lucifer answered for him. "Sorry, I don't think I introduced you two."  
"We've met," the Time Lord pointed at the knife in Mazikeen's hand.  
"Ah," that told him all he needed to know. "How are you?"  
The Doctor nodded slowly before he spoke. "Good. I'm good,"  
"Still on your own?"  
A pregnant pause. "Yeah," he dragged the word out. "Best that way, though."  
"For them, or for you?" Lucifer asked.  
"For everyone," the Doctor replied curtly.   
"Alright," he figured he wasn't going to get much else out of the Doctor, and so changed tacts. "Would you like a drink?"  
"Yeah, might as well,"

It came to be that they sat speaking about the past months for two hours over a shared bottle of whiskey, exchanging stories. Mazikeen had long since left on a bounty hunt, the two left to themselves in the dimming light of the penthouse.  
"You said that you knew the Master once," Lucifer said softly between sips from his glass. "What happened?"  
The Doctor considered the question for a while. "He was my best friend," he fiddled with his fingers awkwardly, unsure of what to do with himself. "He looked into the untempered schism. It was a rite of passage. Every child did it. You'd stare into the vastness of time, forced to behold the raw power of the universe." He explained. "It was an initiation. Just to see what it would do to you. Some ran, some were inspired, and he went insane."  
"What did you do?"  
The Doctor gave him a knowing smile. "I think you can take a stab at that,"  
"You ran?"  
"I never stopped," he shook his head and took a drink.   
"And when he died?" Lucifer asked.  
In the quiet, they could hear the clamour of Lux below them. "I always hoped he would get better," he said after a while. "I thought I could help him. He got shot, and he could have fixed himself, but he didn't. Got the last laugh, I suppose. He had all the right pieces, he just couldn't put them together. I thought I could do that for him. Give him that chance. But he refused." The Doctor sighed. "I knew he could be better, and now he never can be. He was all I had of my home, and now that I'm on my own again..." His eyes widened a little, as though considering the thoughts for the first time. "It means that I'm next."  
Lucifer looked on solemnly, extending an almost palpable wave of empathy.  
"I can never have my friend back. I could never have him back before he died, but this tiny, tiny little thought kept clamouring in the back of my head. You could... You could... You could... And I kept holding onto that chance. And now the chance is gone..." He cleared his throat. "Maybe he thought it would vindicate him for everything he did that year. I don't know. I'll never know."  
"Do you forgive him?"  
"All I have is forgiveness," he drawled out. "It's all I can do. I saw him before, and he didn't know who he was. He'd hidden it from himself. But when he didn't know himself, he was a saviour. He fought for humanity; for opportunity; for a bright future. If he'd never looked into the schism, that's the man he could've been."  
Lucifer wasn't going to pretend that he understood a majority of what the Doctor was saying, but some scraps stood out to him. "Maybe he'll get the chance one day," he pursed his lips. "As far as I know, he isn't an occupant of Hell right now."  
"If he was, I think you'd know about it," the Doctor chuckled half-heartedly.  
Lucifer shared the chuckle, then considered the Doctor's words further. "Is that why you were angry about Jeremy?"  
"I wasn't angry," he was quick to correct. "She - Mary - thought she was justified. He just... Never got the chance."  
The devil nodded slowly as he finished his glass. "I understand."  
"What happened with Chloe in the end?" The Doctor changed the subject overtly, and Lucifer smiled wryly.  
"She avoided me for a while," he poured another finger out, topping up the Doctor's glass as he did so. "She came around, though. I think seeing all that alien stuff, meeting you, helped. She was already so shocked by everything, she didn't have much more capacity for being shocked."  
"That's good. I'm happy for you," The Doctor pursed his lips and drank the entirety of the glass in front of him, emptying it in two graceless glugs.  
"Have you been alone all this time?"  
"No," the Doctor shook his head. "I had a friend with me for a while. Donna. You'd have liked her. Well, she would have liked you."  
"What happened?"  
"She had to forget me," he sighed, shrugged, and refused a silent offer for another refill. "Her mind got... Spliced with mine. Her brain couldn't handle it."  
Lucifer let out a little 'oh', then finished his own glass. "I'm sorry,"  
"She saved the world. No need to be sorry," he cracked a little smile. "She gets to live a long and happy life without worrying about all of... This." He gestured at the room around them.   
"You shouldn't have to be on your own,"  
"I'm not on my own," he bristled a little. "I saw my friends. I saw people I never expected to be able to see again."  
"Rose?"  
The Doctor looked shocked. "Did I mention her?"  
"Only briefly. In passing. But your eyes went cloudy when you did," Lucifer said softly. "I thought she might be important."  
He chuckled at that. "I saw her, I saw Martha, I saw all these people from my past, and they were all shining. Shining great beacons of light. Like I had some semblance of a family left."  
"You have a lot of people who love you,"   
"And I always have to say goodbye,"  
A shared, sad look, and then, like a pin had dropped; the Doctor was standing up, straightening out his suit, and smiling as though the conversation had only happened to Lucifer. "I should be off now."  
"You always leave before I'm bored of you," Lucifer pointed out, standing with him.  
"If I didn't, I would stay here forever," he responded with a raise of the brow, advancing toward the TARDIS door.  
"Will I see you again?"   
"I should think so," the Doctor said after a beat of silence. He opened the door, gave a weak, two-fingered salute, and entered his ship.

As the TARDIS whirred, Lucifer called something out to the man inside. He couldn't be sure whether the Doctor heard him, but prayed that the next time he saw his friend wouldn't be too soon. A niggling feeling at the back of his mind told him that the next time he saw his friend would be the last.


	13. All the Farewells in the Galaxy

Lux was closing up in an early May morning when the now-familiar sound sang through Lucifer's ears, slightly muffled by the space between them. Despite the distance from the club to the penthouse, the noise resonated in a manner that felt almost ethereal, leading the devil to rush to the lift and urge it to somehow move faster than it normally did. The regular rise felt like a sluggish mockery of Lucifer's rush to get to his home, and when the chime indicated that he had arrived at his destination, he rushed out in search for the source of the sound.  
The TARDIS stood in the centre of the room, just as it had before, but the man operating it was nowhere to be seen. Without the Doctor, the ship looked domineering and ominous, shattering Lucifer's schemata of his home in a way that hadn't troubled him before. It looked darker, the resonating hums of the box radiating an aura of danger. He shook his head. _No, not danger - fear._

As the thought tumbled across his psyche, the door creaked open, revealing the Doctor as he stepped outside. Where once before he had retained a strong, confident gait about him, now he seemed crumpled and defeated. After the events of the past day, Lucifer understood why. Without a word, the devil swiftly poured out a glass of the same whiskey they had shared only a couple of months earlier and handed it to the Time Lord, gesturing for him to sit down with him. With a shaking hand, the Doctor took a drink and stumbled over to the sofa.  
"He didn't die, then?" Lucifer asked, almost fearful of breaking the pensive silence between them.  
"No," he sighed. "Well, I think he has now. Never know with him, though."  
"And the thing in the sky..."  
"That was him. Sort of," he pursed his lips. "Did you change?"  
"No," he responded almost immediately. "Chloe and I stayed as ourselves. I assume Maze did too. She wasn't here."  
"What did you do?"  
"Hid," he shrugged. "I didn't particularly want to see her die this time." He paused, allowed the words to ruminate, then continued. "Did you get what you wanted?"  
"I don't even remember what I wanted," the Doctor grumbled, and Lucifer noted just how exhausted he looked. In front of him now was a man who didn't look like he would qualify as one of the great Time Lords of old, no - he looked like a man, tired and sad and weak. If it wasn't for the ancient gaze he had fixed on the glass in front of him, Lucifer would have brushed him off as an imposter.  
"You wanted the chance to make him better," he was hesitant to ask. "Was he better?"  
The Doctor nodded somberly. "I think so," there was an internal struggle in his eyes that Lucifer was struggling to decipher.  
"Why did he change everyone?"  
"He wanted to find the source of the thing in his head," the Doctor took a sip of his glass. "Seven billion minds, all linked. It was a signal sent through time from our home."  
"Was that the planet?"   
"Yes,"  
"Is that a good thing?" He felt like he was interrogating the Time Lord.  
"No," the Doctor responded bluntly. "They were in a... Imagine a bubble. It's not really a bubble, but imagine a bubble, holding a planet, frozen in the midst of a brutal war. You can't take one thing out of the bubble without popping it and releasing everything inside. So the Time Lords could escape, but the Skaro Degradations, the Nightmare Child, the Could-Have-Been-King with his army of Meanwhiles and Never-Weres..."  
"Creative names," he commented. The Doctor smiled and continued.  
"They'd be out too. The Time Lords were twisted by war. Desperate and fearful and dangerous," he gulped. "It was the temptation to open Pandora's Box. The destruction of everything, everywhere, everywhen, for a home that was never home in the first place."  
"And you stopped it?"  
"He did," the Doctor fiddled with his fingers. "The link was broken. They were going to kill me. But he told me to -" his words faltered. "He told me to get out of the way. He destroyed them for what they did to him. All those centuries with that noise in his head, and it was them. All that he was, and all that he had been, was manufactured for their war efforts." The words dripped with spite, an emotion that Lucifer didn't recognise in the Doctor.  
"The final act of his life was to save you," Lucifer pondered on the idea. "That's good, isn't it?"  
"I don't know," he rubbed his face absently with his free hand. "Because now I know what he could have been."  
A solemn silence.  
The Doctor's face seemed to contort into a sick caricature of the exuberant man he was only a few months prior. "We could go to Georgia, you know. _The Devil Went Down to Georgia_, and all that. Can you play the fiddle?"  
"Doctor -"  
"Doesn't matter. You can learn. I bet you'd be good. You can play the piano, can't you? I heard you that first time we met. You'd pick it up."  
Lucifer's brow knitted. "I have Lux. I can't just leave like that," the excuse was poor, even by his standards. "Chloe needs me."  
"It's a time machine!" The Doctor exclaimed, standing and turning away from Lucifer to look out at LA through the window. "Learn the fiddle, go to Georgia, do the whole _a fiddle of gold against your soul says I'm better than you, _and be back two minutes later. We should. We should do that."  
"Doctor," Lucifer said firmly. He stood, walking in front of the Time Lord, and found - to his great surprise - that his eyes were filled with tears, threatening to spill down his cheeks like waterfalls. "Why are you here?"  
"I could use a friend," the Doctor said, his quiet voice barely piercing the air around him.  
"What's wrong?" It wasn't often that Lucifer's body betrayed him with such anxiety, but his voice shook and his words seemed to tumble out, sounding mismatched and uncomfortable.  
The Doctor searched Lucifer's face for a few seconds, and once again that battle played out behind his eyes. After a moment, his jaw tensed and his eyes fell as he uttered two words that shattered the devil into oblivion.  
"I'm dying,"  
"What?" Lucifer reeled. "You look fine! What do you mean you're dying?"  
"I'm -" he screwed his face up and took another laboured drink from his glass. "I said before that the Master could have fixed himself when he got shot. I could fix myself right now. We have this trick, Time Lords. In the face of death, we... re-randomise all of our cells. Become new again."  
"Why aren't you doing it?"  
"I'm scared," he smiled painfully. "I'm angry. There's so much more I can do. I die, and a new man walks off. He has new adventures and he lives and he loves but this piece of me dies. The piece of me that sits here with you drinking whiskey in a penthouse under the polluted skies of LA falls off and rots away." He looked away.  
"What happens if you refuse?" He asked.  
"I die," the Doctor said. "Permanently."  
Lucifer grabbed at his arm. "Then you fix yourself. You can't die. I don't even think my father knows what the world would do if you weren't here, fixing his abominable mistakes."  
"I'm tired," he breathed out. "Am I allowed to be tired?"  
"If you die now, and your soul crawls its way up to heaven, will you be able to justify yourself when the Silver City is filled to the brim with innocents who died because the Could-Have-Been-King and his army of Meanwhiles and Never-Weres burned Earth to the ground because you weren't there to stop them? Will you absolve yourself of the guilt because you were _tired_?" The words were harsh and clearly stung the Doctor, but it garnered the intended effect. The Doctor's gaze hardened and his slouch straightened just a tad.  
"No, I won't,"   
Lucifer smiled then, squeezed his shoulder, and tilted his head to the TARDIS looming as the centrepiece of the room. "Then do it, Doctor," he paused. "But say goodbye first."  
The Time Lord downed the rest of his glass and placed it on the table, veering toward his ship. He opened the door, and as a habit, turned to the devil with a sombre smile. "Thank you," he managed out.  
"The pleasure was all mine,"  
"It was good, wasn't it?"  
"I suppose it was," Lucifer chuckled.  
The Doctor walked away from the door - but just before it closed of its own volition, he called out an oddly cheerful "I'll see you in Hell!"

The TARDIS' song drifted through the night of LA, providing a melancholy comfort in Lucifer's aching heart. As it faded out of view, Lucifer raised a glass.  
"Farewell," 

* * *

It had been a few years now, and Lucifer had pushed the Doctor to the back of his mind. Every now and then, the stars would align in just the right way, or he'd see a flash of light amongst them and know, in his heart of hearts, that his friend was still kicking about in the universe.  
One evening, while arriving home from a particularly grisly murder case, he heard a sound that reopened a palace of memories in his mind as he entered the lift to the penthouse.   
As the doors to his lift slid open, he could barely contain the ecstatic energy bubbling through his veins and rushed out to find -

Nothing.  
The TARDIS wasn't in its usual spot in the living room. There was no one in the room apart from him and his quickly crushed hope. The elation he felt only seconds earlier quickly evolved into an intense sorrow, engulfing the air around him and encasing him in a strange and unexplainable feeling of grief.   
The feeling stayed until his eyes fell on his coffee table.

The flask that he had lent the Doctor after Jeremy's death was stood in the centre, atop a small piece of paper. The adrenaline that had coursed through him like rapids had his hands trembling as he picked up the note embellished with messy, frantic-looking handwriting in block capitals.

_Sorry I missed you.  
_ _Thought I'd make up for holding onto this for so long and filled it up with something from my collection. I hope Napoleon Cognac is to your tastes.  
_ _\- Your friend_

That night, Lucifer drove to the outskirts of Los Angeles to catch a glimpse of a sky untainted by flashing, beaming lights, and stared at the stars until they faded with the arrival of the sun. 


End file.
